


Rough Trade

by raunchyandpaunchy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Facials, Impact Play, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Rough Body Play, Safeword Use, Sexual Roleplay, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Tonight they were playing parts, dancing around each other in a twisted theatre. Nazir, the mercenary for hire; Brynjolf, the highwayman in search of hired muscle. They hadn’t talked about where things would go, only where they would stop; limits and boundaries discussed, safewords already in place. Whatever they chose to do now would be a surprise to them both, but there were rules. No knives, no weapons, no sharp objects. Nothing with any of Ingun’s nasty plants. Nothing too public.Plenty of getting roughed up though, Brynjolf hoped. Plenty of him getting put in his place.





	1. Scoundrel's Folly

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Reddit's Prompts Challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/bjeim2/prompts_challenge_round_14_may/), where I picked the theme Points of View, as well as getting the trope _Damn You, Muscle Memory!_ and the three words _choking, hottest_ and _fallout_. 
> 
> For anyone new to my writing, wondering how it is that Brynjolf and Nazir know each other, and why other people are mentioned, and why it's all set up this way--check out my main work in progress, [The Edged Lexicon.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758052/chapters/36650358)
> 
> This was a blast to write, and I hope you enjoy! <3

The tavern was packed, patrons crammed into every available seat and space in the place. Something lively and loud and whirling was being played on lute and drum and viol, locals dancing and carousing, contents of their tankards spilling across the floor as they made merry.

If they weren’t careful, the contents of their purses could spill too. Brynjolf’s palms itched, opportunity splayed wide before him. He took a swig of his mead and tucked his other hand in his pocket, lest temptation get the better of him.

This wasn’t why he was here. Tonight, he had a mark of a different sort.

It didn’t take long to find him, the deep mahogany of his skin distinct against a sea of pasty Nords. Tankard in his hand, ring knotting his beard, dagger strapped to his thigh. An older Imperial sat opposite, clearly uneasy, watching the imposing man with suspicion but clearly reluctant to give up the only free seat in the tavern. The only seat, Brynjolf noted, that patrons were giving a wide berth. He wasn’t sure if it was racism, pragmatism, or a healthy mix of both, but he didn’t care. Let them keep their distance. They didn’t know the half of what the man was capable of.

Not like Brynjolf, anyway. He knew the man intimately, had done for years. Esteemed member of the Dark Brotherhood, fierce Alik’r warrior, and the only man who could bring him to his knees. The only man he would _let_ bring him to his knees. The only person, save one other, that he would bend for.

Mostly, anyway. He and Nazir had a… strange kind of dynamic, even by Sanctum standards. With Vex, he chose to submit, gave it to the woman willingly. A gift for someone who had shown him just what it meant to let go. It was different with Nazir. Competitive. Primal. A fight, almost. Brynjolf liked it that way, liked that Nazir tested his strength as well as his will. Sought it out, asked for it, and Nazir was only too happy to oblige.

Brynjolf approached slowly, easily, without pretense of stealth or subterfuge. “Evening,” he said, setting his mead bottle down on the table.

Nazir smiled, sharp and cool, taking a long draught from his tankard. “Can I help you?”

“Perhaps.” Brynjolf ran his fingers through his hair, grinning down at Nazir, sinking into the role. “Heard you might have some… services I’d be interested in soliciting.”

The double entendre wasn’t lost on Nazir, nor the man sat opposite who eyed the pair with marked disgust. Brynjolf couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching into a grin.

Nazir raised a brow. “Shall we talk about this somewhere more private?”

“Thought maybe I could buy you a drink first,” Brynjolf replied, seeing the brief flash of ire in Nazir’s eyes before his face quickly settled back into controlled indifference.

Nazir shrugged. “As you wish.” He tossed one last sneer at the Imperial and strode to the bar, Brynjolf following.

Tonight they were playing parts, dancing around each other in a twisted theatre. Nazir, the mercenary for hire; Brynjolf, the highwayman in search of hired muscle. They hadn’t talked about where things would go, only where they would stop; limits and boundaries discussed, safewords already in place. Whatever they chose to do now would be a surprise to them both, but there were rules. No knives, no weapons, no sharp objects. Nothing with any of Ingun’s nasty plants. Nothing too public.

Plenty of getting roughed up though, Brynjolf hoped. Plenty of him getting put in his place.

Brynjolf slid his coin across the bar, giving the barmaid a wink before turning to Nazir, uncorking his mead with his teeth. Feral and provocative, like he was daring him to object.

“So,” Nazir said, unaffected. “You’re in need of my services.” His eyes never left Brynjolf. “Tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for.”

Oh, and wasn’t _that_ an open invitation. “Thought you could clear out a few unwanted pests for me.” Brynjolf stroked along the stubble lining his jaw. “Got a job me and my men are running, and we could do with someone who knows his way around a blade.”

Nazir’s brow raised. “And what’s in it for me?”

“What would you like?” Brynjolf leaned in closer, lowered his voice. “Got coin, or I’ve got… other things you might be interested in.”

A quirk tugged at the side of Nazir’s mouth before he took a long, slow sip of his ale. “All that posturing and implication over at my table, and you’re the one offering to whore yourself out.”

“Whores get paid,” Brynjolf said simply. “Merely suggesting an exchange of services.”

“And isn’t that _noble_ ,” Nazir all but sneered, eyes glinting with amusement. He took another drink from his tankard, foam collecting on the hair above his lip, tongue curling up to retrieve it. “Offering yourself up like you’ve nothing to gain from the venture.”

Brynjolf grinned. “Didn’t say that.” He knocked back the rest of his mead, honeyed warmth bursting through his veins. “Let’s call that part ‘mutually beneficial.’”

Something dark and dangerous gleamed in Nazir’s eyes, and his smile was all teeth, wide and dagger-sharp, like a predator who’d just found its dinner. “Perhaps I might not make it so pleasurable for you, boy. Did you consider that?”

 _Boy_. The man was only a few years older than he was, roughly the same height, and yet the word made Brynjolf feel small and insignificant in ways that made heat pool in his gut. Condescending in just the way he liked to be condescended to. If anyone else had said it he’d have knocked their lights out, or stole their coin, or a combination of both. But coming from Nazir, all he could do was swallow awkwardly.

“Might’ve,” was all that he could muster.

Nazir drained his tankard. “Good.” He smirked. “Shall we?”

It had been a while since Brynjolf had been this flustered, tongue-tied, at a complete loss for words. He felt like a young lad again, fumbling in the face of a clever riposte, wit not yet sharpened to a razor-edge. It was alarming, having one of his main skills snatched from under him, and he felt the urge to regain some footing.

Speechcraft might have been beyond him, but pickpocketing certainly wasn’t. And the coin purse hanging from Nazir’s belt, ready to be plucked like an apple from a tree, was too inviting to pass up. The man was busy at the counter, talking to the innkeeper, retrieving his room key. Distracted. An easy target. The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth twitched.

Before he’d had a chance for the rational side of his brain to kick in, his fingers were coaxing the leather pouch from its precarious position, measured and careful, experience and muscle memory taking over. To his satisfaction, it slid off Nazir’s belt easily, straight into his waiting palms in one fluid, satisfying motion. Brynjolf felt his blood pulse, the sweet rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. Gods, it felt fucking good, stealing from the man he was about to bed right under his nose. Ridiculously good. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to fight to keep the grin off his face, lest Nazir catch wind of what’d happened.

“First room on the left,” Nazir said, turning back around. “After you.”

Probably an unwise move to let the mercenary walk behind him, but common sense had left Brynjolf quite some time ago. And it’s not like the man would try anything here, in a busy tavern, with people nearby—

The door slammed shut behind him, and Nazir’s hands were on his neck, pressing him firmly into the wall. Not hard enough to cut off breathing, but hard enough to let him know he was trapped.

“You have something of mine, thief.”

Brynjolf swallowed, throat bobbing against Nazir’s unyielding palm. “Is that right?” His eyebrow arched. “Maybe you can beat it out of me.”

“Unlike you, I don’t take easy bait,” Nazir sneered. “Careless.” His thumb ran gently along Brynjolf’s pulse point. “You can keep the coin, but if you want to be a whore so badly, you’d better make a convincing one.”

Brynjolf’s cock throbbed through his leathers. Already he could feel himself starting to slip into the fuzzy, warm space where all that existed were commands and sensation—body relaxed, mind pliant. He grabbed Nazir’s hips, pulled him close, feeling the man’s own arousal press into him.

“Go on, then,” Brynjolf said, voice scratchy and hoarse. “Take what you’re owed.”

Nazir kissed him then, fast and firm and rough, beard brushing against Brynjolf’s jaw. Pushed him further against the wall, fisted his hair, bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He keened into Nazir’s mouth, hands scrambling for something to grab, something to scratch or score. Found it in Nazir’s hips, and threw him round, pressing him against the wall and grasping his cock like a vice.

“Going to regret that, thief,” Nazir growled, blood staining his lips.

Brynjolf sucked his bottom lip, the metallic tang lingering on his tongue. “S’at so?” He gripped Nazir’s cock harder. “Fucking show me—”

Pain shot through Brynjolf as Nazir yanked his hair tighter, harder, so hard he thought he was going to pull it out of his scalp, and fuck, the godsdamned bastard had him on his knees—

“Better.” Nazir’s hand loosened, unthreaded from his hair, laid a firm slap across his cheek. “You need to learn how to behave yourself, whore.”

Brynjolf knew he should stop himself, bite his tongue, know when to shut up. Instead, he said, “You get what you pay for.”

That comment earned him a kick to the chest, just hard enough to knock him on his back. Nazir’s boot pressed against his crotch, and Brynjolf’s heart beat heavy in his chest at the vulnerability of his position.

“I’m getting bored of your disobedience, boy.” His boot pressed harder, tipping over from uncomfortable to painful, and Brynjolf whimpered. “I suggest you change that.”

Brynjolf exhaled slowly, urged himself to unclench his fists. “And how would I do that, Sir?”

Another cold, predatory smile. “You can start by undressing. Stay down on your knees, you look much better there.” He removed his foot from Brynjolf’s crotch, and the smile faded. “Try anything funny and I promise you’ll regret it.”

Brynjolf knew better than to call his bluff. He scrambled upright and peeled off his jacket, the chill biting at his heated skin as it was bereft of his leathers. Inched off his undershirt, eyes never leaving Nazir, the man’s gaze piercing into him. Stripping him of every last vestige of privacy, even as he disrobed himself, loosening the laces of his breeches.

“Oh no, you can keep those on. For now, anyway.”

Was he joking? Brynjolf assumed not, and it only made the strain of his cock against his leathers more unbearable. They weren’t as tight, but he still felt caged, strangled, and the whole situation was frustrating in ways he didn’t want to vocalise. He tried to bite back a huff, but it escaped through his nose as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Something wrong?” Nazir grinned. “Things not quite going as you planned, thief?” He reached into his bag, pulled out a long length of rope, ran it through his hands. “That’s too bad. Did you forget who was in charge?” Paced behind Brynjolf, held his arms in place against his back, and Brynjolf felt the firm trace of the rope against his flesh. Absently, somewhere in Brynjolf’s mind, he thought perhaps it wasn’t a great idea to be bound by a man who could kill him if he really wanted to. Another, more present part of him throbbed at the idea. Struggle, he thought. Fight. Protest. But Gods, the loop of each run of rope against skin felt so good, and he couldn’t help but sink into the ritual of it, drunk on sensation and submission.

“Tell me, thief—” Nazir looked down at him, lip curled into a sardonic smile. “Ever had another man’s cock in that smart mouth of yours?”

Brynjolf licked his lips. “Once or twice.”

“Of course you have. Probably the only way anyone gets you to shut up.” Nazir pulled himself from his breeches, giving his length a long, slow stroke. “Heard rumours about how much the Thieves Guild’s second-in-command likes sucking cock.”

Every muscle in Brynjolf’s body tensed. “How did you—”

“It’s my job to know,” Nazir said, although it were obvious. He gently carded Brynjolf’s hair. “Apparently the same can’t be said for you, or you wouldn’t have offered yourself up to a Dark Brotherhood assassin.”

Ah. Brynjolf saw the game Nazir was playing, and his blood pulsed with it, gave him another opportunity to bite. “That a threat, is it?” His voice was a low growl, primal, all heat. “I don’t scare so easi—”

The cock thrust into his mouth stopped his words, hot and hard against his tongue. Brynjolf barely had a moment to register its presence—the salty, distinctive musk, the velvet of his head and shaft—before Nazir buried himself to the hilt, eyes glowing with danger and hunger as Brynjolf struggled to accommodate him.

“No?” The fist in Brynjolf’s hair tightened its grip. “Guess I’ll need to try harder, then.”

He whimpered around the length of Nazir’s cock and fuck, he loved the way it pulsed in response, the way the man pulled him in further, faster, harder, until his nose was buried in the thatch of curls at his crotch. Let out a long, slow exhale as the head pressed against the back of his throat. Tried not to squirm when he felt his own erection grow in his leathers. The fist balled in his hair gripped tighter and pain pulsed behind his eyes, reminding him exactly who held the reins.

A second of reprieve, then Nazir was fucking his face, Brynjolf’s lips gliding over the deep, dark velvet of his cock. He was reduced to sensation—the scent of Nazir in his nostrils, the taste of him on his tongue. Saliva dripping down his chin, over his chest, onto the floor; tears streaming down his face, every thrust of Nazir’s cock both a gift and an effort. Strain. On his arms, his knees, his jaw. The faint murmur of the tavern revellers, overtaken by Nazir’s ragged breaths and the messy, obscene noises of Brynjolf taking him. His eyes, dark and mahogany, never leaving his.

“You’re good at this, thief,” Nazir growled, curling the title into something cruel. “Obviously you’re in the wrong profession.”

They’d had an agreement, beforehand. _Moan three times and I’ll stop._ Brynjolf had been close, barely managing to keep it together, but wanted to succeed, wanted to bring Nazir to his pleasure like nothing he’d ever known. So he’d fought against the choking feeling and the strain pulling at him and kept sucking, focusing on giving Nazir’s length long, slow strokes with his tongue every time he pulled out and gave him a moment to recover. Couldn’t stop himself from letting out little satisfied sounds as he did so, and he knew Nazir had noticed as soon as he saw the smile spread across his face.

Nazir withdrew his cock, and Brynjolf shuddered—a wretched, uncontained little thing, borne of submission and adrenaline and lust.

“Miss me that much already?” Nazir grinned, utterly shameless. “If you want it so badly, you can have it.” His thumb grazed across Brynjolf’s bottom lip. “ _If_ you ask nicely.”

“Fuck,” Brynjolf said, voice hoarse and thick. “Please, Sir. Gods, I need it, please—”

Nazir’s hand wrapped around his cock, working the spit-slicked length in long, fast strokes, ruthlessly chasing his pleasure. Just out of reach of Brynjolf, and fuck, the tease of it just made him want it more, attempting to catch him with his mouth and lick along the length of him. He strained, missing each time, and he couldn’t stop the growl from springing from the back of his throat, raw and animal and desperate—

Nazir cried out as he shot over Brynjolf, hot, thick ropes of cum streaking his face, smearing his stubble, spilling into his mouth and onto his tongue. Brynjolf pulsed hot and hard in his leathers as Nazir’s hips stuttered, his hand fisting in his hair, pulling him close as his other hand milked himself dry into his mouth. Fingers traced across the mess on his face, then nudged their way between his lips, the taste of Nazir bitter and acrid on his tongue.

Every last one of his senses overwhelmed by Nazir, Brynjolf’s world reduced to the man above him. Sinking under, further, deeper.


	2. Sanctuary

Few things in life felt as good as this. Some Nazir got to indulge in his line of work, although there it was less controlled—a wild dog let off its leash, rabid and bloodthirsty. This wasn’t a huge leap from that part of him, but it was more contained; an outlet for the darker parts of him, with willing flesh. Someone as starving and desperate and deranged as he was. A challenge, both in physicality and bravery. And Gods, the challenge made this part even sweeter.

Brynjolf gazed up at him, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes glimmering crystalline green in the dim light. Beautiful and rope-drunk and reverent, already so pliant and submissive. Fuck, he was gorgeous like this—not that Nazir would give up that information easily, because the cocky bastard wouldn’t let him forget it. It was a rare sight, and one so few were permitted to see. Nazir had seen the reverse countless times—new Sanctum recruits on their knees for him, cum dripping from their lips, gazing up at the man with something bordering on worship—but that was a position and a privilege Brynjolf reserved for Nazir, and Nazir alone.

“Definitely in the wrong profession,” Nazir purred, letting Brynjolf suck the digits clean. “Wasted, when you look so good like this. Mouth full, eyes and face glazed.” Withdrew his fingers and ran them back over Brynjolf’s cheek, smearing his cum over the man’s lips, Brynjolf’s tongue curling out to taste. “Licking up every last drop of me like a perfect fucking cockslut.”

The noise that escaped Brynjolf was downright filthy. It made something deep and dark and ugly bubble up inside Nazir, something he only really let out around Brynjolf. Because he wanted it—every mocking word, every cruel lash—but also because he could. Brynjolf wasn’t some tender, inexperienced thing, all doe-eyes and trembling fingers, melting like wax underneath his fingertips and shattering just as easily. He was like well-worn leather; thoroughly beaten and used, and he clung to every last contour of Nazir like a second skin. Knew every last nook and cranny of him, and settled in there with an effortless ease.

And he only got better with age, and wear, and beating.

“Hope you don’t think we’re done, thief.” Nazir withdrew his fingers, tucked his cock back into his breeches. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.” Walked behind him, hoisted him up by the ropes, threw him face down on the bed. “Need to learn a lesson about taking things that aren’t yours.” Unlaced his boots, inched them off, stripped him of his leathers and socks and smallclothes.

Gods, he looked good like that—splayed across the bed, face down, bound and squirming as he awaited whatever Nazir planned to give him. Trying and failing not to grind into the covers underneath, body begging for contact.

“For a professional con man, you’ve a shit poker face,” Nazir murmured in Brynjolf’s ear, running his hands over his bare arse. “Thing like that could get you into trouble.”

Easy bait, and Nazir knew Brynjolf well enough to know he would take it. “Trouble like this?”

Nazir let his hand strike down, a bright red handprint lining the pale flesh of Brynjolf’s arse. “Did I say you could talk?”

“Didn’t say I coul—” The second smack laid down over the first, more forceful this time.   _“_ _Fuck!”_

Nazir let his hand linger, feeling the heat begin to rise. “Slow learner, too. Other than sucking cock I’ve yet to see what you’re actually good at.”

That drew a growl from somewhere low in Brynjolf’s throat, dark and raw and primal. Excellent. That was exactly what Nazir wanted—a fight. In truth, he loved every last smart word the man gave him, loved his defiance even in the face of fear. Loved that he pushed every single one of Nazir’s buttons, just so he would get what he really wanted.

And Nazir was only too happy to give it to him.

“What, no response?” _Smack._ “Maybe you’ve finally figured it out.” Struck him again, once, twice, three times, until he was panting and writhing and cursing under his breath. He kneaded the reddened flesh, and Brynjolf hissed, a noise more pleasure than pain. After all, Nazir knew exactly how much the man could take, and it was a damn sight more than this.

He let his hand fall against the firm, yielding flesh of Brynjolf’s arse, feeling the sting and swell building in his palm, stopping every few strikes to admire the effects of his punishment. Hands on hands on hands, red and angry, searing heat radiating from the abused flesh. He ran his finger across each line, revelling in the reaction it earned—the wretched, small little noises that escaped Brynjolf, so desperate, so vulnerable, the way his arms strained against the rope, hands balled into fists.

“You take a beating well too, I’ll give you that.” Nazir unbuckled his belt, slid it slowly out of the loops of his breeches, watched Brynjolf squirm at the sound. “Wonder what else you can take?”

He grasped the buckle, looped the leather around. Gave it an experimental swing, testing his own aim as well as Brynjolf’s resolve. Listened to the man breathe, ragged and quick, letting the suspense torture him, waiting to see if the thief would crack before the belt.

A sharp huff escaped Brynjolf. “Are you going to hit me or are you just going to stand there?” Irritation spiked his tone, but it failed to mask the nervousness underneath.

“Well, that’s really my call to make, isn’t it?” Nazir couldn’t help the grin from forming on his face. Not that Brynjolf could see it, but he’d know it was there, and it would drive him insane. “If I want to beat you senseless, that’s what I’ll do. If I want to watch you sweat, that’s what I’ll do.” He licked his lips, lowered his voice. “If I want to leave you a writhing, begging mess, that’s what I’ll do.”

Another small, wanting sound left Brynjolf, and it made Nazir’s blood pulse, made him want to fucking devour him. It was automatic, the way he brought the belt down, giving Brynjolf just what he needed—leather on skin, pain building on pain, resonating through the man with every shudder of his body. It was always so delicious—that initial snap of contact, and the reactions the action rent, sharp and curling and unabashed.

“Been talking an awfully big game with that mouth of yours, thief. Beginning to think this is what you wanted all along.” Nazir ran the leather through his palm. “Is it?”

No answer. Nazir laid down another stripe, its mark glowing red and angry across the pink of Brynjolf’s flesh.

“I asked you a question, boy. Is this—” Another strike, and Nazir could hear the pain in Brynjolf’s cry this time, “what you wanted?”

“Aye!” The word came out in a strangled gasp. “Fuck, please, _yes—_ ” A growl, an exhale. “This is what I want, Sir.”

Gorgeous, when he was desperate like that, when he laid himself bare. “In that case, perhaps I should use something harder.”

Nazir breathed in the scent of the leather, rich and familiar, ran the twin tongues through his hand. So rarely did he get to use the strap, with its cruel, vicious bite—it was his favourite, and so few could even handle it, never mind appreciate it the way he did. Ingun, for all her endurance and love of pain, could only withstand a few strikes. Brynjolf, on the other hand, seemed to crave its mark almost as much as Nazir craved delivering it. Their sessions were a battle of wills, a test of both inner and outer strength, with a healthy dash of stubbornness tossed in for good measure. It was exactly the kind of struggle Nazir enjoyed, the kind that broke him down even as it broke down his opponent; every strike and shout and shudder a sublime triumph, world narrowing to nothing but the wretched sounds Brynjolf made, the spasms of his body, the evenness of his breathing.

Surprisingly, Nazir broke before he did. Brynjolf hadn’t given up, hadn’t asked him to stop—at least not in words that would actually make him stop—but Nazir knew the signs of a body pushed to its limits. The man was frenzied, drunk on sensation and submission, chasing the feeling. He would need to be brought down, centred. Reminded where he was, who he was.

Nazir doubted that was what he wanted right now, but it was what he needed.

“How are you feeling, boy?”

“Fine, Sir.” Brynjolf’s voice was thick, distant, still drifting somewhere. “Didn’t say it. Can take more. _Want_ more.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m not giving it to you, thief.” Nazir gave the ropes that bound Brynjolf a quick tug. “How are your arms?”

Brynjolf purred. “Better than my arse.” His back arched, almost tauntingly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Nazir—

“I’ll give you one more chance to answer my question properly.” Nazir’s hand was curled around his neck now, not applying pressure, just reminding him who was in charge. Flush against his back, erection pressing against Brynjolf’s abused arse, and he knew he felt it when he heard the whimper escape him. “I suggest you respond correctly this time.”

Brynjolf’s throat moved against Nazir’s hand as he swallowed. “Arms are fine, Sir.”

“Good.” Nazir licked a long, slow stripe across Brynjolf’s neck, tasting the salt and sweat and musk of himself that still lingered there. “Now, do you know why I stopped?”

“Because you’re a fucking tease?”

Nazir let his hand roam from Brynjolf’s neck to his shoulder, then threw him onto his back, grinning at his discomfort. Took in the sight of him, streaked with sweat, utterly wrecked and lost already, cock flushed and leaking onto his stomach.

“I stopped,” Nazir said, “because you’re greedy.” Let his gaze linger on Brynjolf’s arousal, lecherous and obvious; let its effect sink in. “No wonder you’re a thief—it must be so easy to get exactly what you want when you can just take it.” Grabbed himself through his breeches, let Brynjolf see the effect he was having on him. “But where’s the fun in that? Where’s the effort? I think I need to teach you what it is to truly want.”

He stripped off his tunic, undershirt, breeches. Slowly, torturously, never letting his gaze leave Brynjolf’s, the emerald of his eyes almost eclipsed by the blown-out black of his pupils. Brynjolf watching him like a starved animal, eyes tracing the myriad scars that lined Nazir’s body. Occupational hazards, mostly, but some others that had darker stories. He took them all in with the same measure of hunger and reverence, and it made a strange, urgent heat roil in Nazir’s gut.

A sharp, wolfish smile spread across Nazir’s face as he grasped his cock, feeling it pulse in his hand. “Some of us know how to control ourselves.” He gave himself a few languorous strokes just to drive the point home. “I’m not so sure you do. But I’ll bet I can teach you.” Leaned over to grab the bottle of oil on the bedside table, and heard Brynjolf fail to bite back a moan as he stretched above him.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Nazir uncorked the bottle, drizzled an unnecessary amount of oil over Brynjolf’s cock, let it run slowly down his balls. “So utterly desperate. Bet you’d do anything to get off right now.” Worked it in, slow and cool and methodical. “Would probably rut into the bedsheets like the hound you are if I let you.” His hand stilled. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Brynjolf said, voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop.”

His desperation was palpable, something raw and vulnerable present in his tone. Really, he should know better.

Nazir let his oil-slicked fingers slide down the taut skin of Brynjolf’s balls, parting his legs, venturing between the part of his arse. “You should be very, very careful what you wish for, boy.” Sought out the tight ring of muscle there, circled it, before slowly inching in his finger. “Because I’m not going to stop.” Curled his finger upwards to coax a growl from Brynjolf. “But you’re going to wish I would by the end.” Slid his finger partway out, then slid it back in again, keeping up the slow, steady, agonising rhythm, stretching Brynjolf out before adding another digit and repeating the motion anew. Leaned in, let his cock press against Brynjolf’s, wrapped his hand around the man’s neck as he leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Going to have fun breaking you.”

He felt the clench around his fingers, heard the low keen rumbling from somewhere deep inside Brynjolf, and fuck, he wanted him, every part of him, didn’t want to wait any longer. The build-up was delicious, but Brynjolf made it hard, the way he needed it, needed him, so wanting yet so, so obedient—

“Going to give you what you want now, thief.” Nazir withdrew his fingers, slicked his cock, pushed it up against Brynjolf’s entrance. “Not even going to make you beg for it.” Slowly slid in, letting Brynjolf press himself onto him, let him adjust to the feeling of being filled. “Plenty of time for that later.” Grasped his hip, and pulled him on further, Brynjolf moaning as his body accepted Nazir’s cock to the hilt. He stilled himself there, letting his gaze pierce into Brynjolf’s, hand clasping around his neck once more. _Mine_ , it all said; the scent of Nazir’s pleasure still lingering on his skin, the way he bared himself to him, let him take him like this. Let him have his way with him, bring him to the brink, tell him when.

Fucked him slow, savoured every last whine he wrung from Brynjolf, every last movement of his body. Tightened his grip around his neck, fingers pressing into the pulse points he’d so carefully mapped out. Years of training to know how to kill somebody properly, precisely which parts to push to inflict serious damage. Useful, so he could do the exact opposite right now.

Wrapped his hand around Brynjolf’s cock, felt it throb against his palm, felt his pulse against his fingers, felt his own blood surge through him. Godsdamned gorgeous, bound and bruised and helpless like this, all of him in Nazir’s hands—

“Ebony.” The word came out in a small, choked gasp, fragile in a way Nazir knew wasn’t good, wasn’t content. Shook him from his frenzy, and he released his grip, pulled himself from Brynjolf, looked at him. Really looked at him. Tears streaked his face, and somewhere along the lines his expression had changed from glazed and hungry to that of a caged animal.

“Brynjolf.” He let his hand settle on the man’s shoulder, grounding him. “Can I cut you free from the rope?”

A small nod. Good enough. He turned Brynjolf over, retrieved his dagger, carefully cut him loose. Massaged the deep grooves in his skin, let Brynjolf stretch out and sit up and wrap his arms around him. Brynjolf’s body shook with his sobs, wet trails dripping down Nazir’s shoulder and back as Nazir smoothed circles over his skin.

It was rare that Brynjolf broke like this, but when he did, he broke hard. Nazir had only witnessed it a handful of times. For all his physical fortitude, his weak spot seemed to be control—being denied, being pushed.

“Can’t fucking take this,” he said between gulping breaths. “Need to come. Need you to do it, or I need to, just—” He sighed, ragged and shaky. “Fucking _please_. Let me.”

Nazir kissed his neck, breathed in the scent of him, ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.” He reached for the oil, poured some more into his hand, smoothed it onto Brynjolf’s cock. “Did so well for me, boy.” Started stroking, languorous and steady, thumb running slow circles over the precum collecting at the tip. “Took everything I gave you, didn’t you, like such a good, obedient whore—”

Brynjolf gripped Nazir’s free hand, pulled it up to his neck. “Please?” He was beginning to lose composure now, bucking up into Nazir’s hand in time with his movements.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Nazir said, fingers wrapping around Brynjolf’s neck, carefully seeking out the pulse points. Both hands increasing pressure, intensifying, eyes burning into Brynjolf as he watched him come undone. Felt him thrust spasmodically into his hand, then come over it in hot, thick spurts, crying out his pleasure in choked, guttural cries. Kissed along his jaw as Brynjolf attempted to growl a few choice words in his ear, hand falling across his face in a feeble, half-hearted attempt at a slap, and only really succeeded in collapsing on top of Nazir, clinging to him like a limpet.

Nazir held him tight, letting his breathing level out, stroking his hair, his skin, murmuring encouraging words in his ear. Allowing him to drift slowly back down.

“Fucking sadist,” Brynjolf murmured eventually, looking up at him with a face more soft than sullen. Pawed at the hairs that lined Nazir’s chest and Gods, he’d do anything to keep him here, like this, keep him safe. “Thanks.”

Nazir kissed the crown of his head, breathed him in, like he was all he would ever need. Let himself smile. “Don’t mention it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The massivest of thanks to [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney) for beta reading! 
> 
> If you liked, feel free to leave a kudos or comment. I treasure every single one, from the bottom of my smutty lil heart. <3


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